Have you seen my “Home” on Pinterest? That house is top-notch. Unbelievably organized. The decor is impeccable. The kitchen--clean lined, immaculate; the tile imported. And supposedly it shall be located in the Loire Valley in France on no less than three-hundred acres. And my board entitled “Yum?” Apparently, I cook organically, every meal of every day, from scratch. And each dish has a pop of color and enough nourishment to last a lifetime. Homemade bread? No problem! Coq au vin? A cinch! A suckling pig roast? Sure, why not? “My Style” shows off a wardrobe that is thought-out yet looks effortless: Chanel, Gaultier, and Jimmy Choo--oh my! And my daughter’s “Bday Parties” board is so perfect you would think I hired Colin Cowie. First birthday: Bienvenue à Paris, Second: TutuTea Party, Turning Three: Cowgirls with horses and hay and a tracker. We live in a thirteen-hundred square-foot condo and cannot find enough room to store an exersaucer, but yes, a tractor.
This is all a totally reasonable reality, oui?
Mmm... NON! Because it’s on Pinterest, and it isn’t real. And I have an idea that I’m not alone (that’s right, because I “follow” you, and you, and even you too!). But regardless, I must ask: has this disease struck anyone else? I have been hit hard, and it isn’t pretty. I find once Bird is asleep, and the house is clean enough to not be shamed by, on to Pinterest I go. It is my quiet vice, my momentary escape from reality (while at the same time attempting to plan my reality--how does that work?).
It is true that my fantasies come to life through these organized boards, splitting pictures and recipes and decor into their designated categories. But I have also turned to this online mecca of ideas and tutorials for some much needed inspiration--a DIY hair accessory holder for my daughter’s bows and clips, red velvet whoopie pies for my red velvet-loving husband, and cabinet organization tips for bottles and bibs, just to name a few. But when is enough, enough? Because I could give up on my out-of-reach hopes of cooking for my family, and extravagantly-themed birthday parties for my daughter. And maybe I should. But when I get a tractor in this thirteen-hundred square-foot condominium, I’m going to be shouting from the crane lifting it up: “I told you so!”